


Expanding lungs for the very first time

by CJaneway



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: 700 words, Character Monologue, Character Study, Inspiration, Introspective John, M/M, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJaneway/pseuds/CJaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I keep trembling, but for the right reasons this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expanding lungs for the very first time

My first breath of fresh air did not enter my lungs when I came screaming into the world. It did not make an appearance when I had my first vacation in the country with my grandparents. It did not expand my lungs when I laughed giddily after being accepted to medical school. That elusive breath even evaded me in war - and in the peace afterwards. Especially in the peace afterwards. My first fresh, fulfilling breath was taken when a gangly, rude, curly headed man with a stiffer upper lip than the Queen asked me if I wanted danger.

_Oh God, yes._

**Oh God, yes.**

I breathed those words out with the reverence of the air that had entered me. I forgot my senses, my morals, my pain, and my suffering. Every intake of air after that, sharp, soft, shallow, long – was an extended rush of endorphins that didn’t even calm down when I put a bullet in a man’s head. You lied for me, you brilliant, mad, bastard. You lied for me, with recognition shining in your eyes and a blanket over your shoulders.

I keep trembling, but for the right reasons this time.

I pace outside your mental palace, prowling like a tiger, ready to pounce when you’ve dug so deep into that incomprehensible head of yours that you’ve found the answer we’ve been looking for. I hear them all, Donovan, Anderson, and you are right to call the staff at Scotland Yard idiots, but I will never give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Psychopath, sociopath, emotionless, and abusive. The words are a waterlogged choir and builds a composition I will have no part of, thank you very much. When I make you tea and toast, and you seem to disavow the need for sustenance even with a crinkle of the corner of your mouth and a sheen to your eyes, the idiots do not see the details – they see actions as a finite thing, not as a cloak of protection.

The devil is in the details - so are men working on the side of angels.

I must be crazy, because I could forgive you for dying, but not Mary for lying. I could forgive you for deceit, but I condemned her. I guess it comes down to the semantics. You did it for me, all for me, digging out yourself to build me a home – while she only went native. I regret nothing - there was nothing to lose. When you fell, you fell from a roof, and through my heart, bringing a you-shaped piece down with you - belstaff and all.

You made me kneel and give in, for the first time in my life.

You came back you stunted, disruptive, idiotic, moron – you came back. In a swirl of drama, intrigue, shadows and idiotic ploys and stupid waiter costumes. I am glad I punched you, but I am also glad I hugged you, cried in front of you. In a fit of characteristic schadenfreude, I am also glad I married Mary in front of you, and danced with her while you were, quite literally, playing the violin on the sidelines. Not because I loved her, I realize that now, but because watching you hurt the way I hurt was vindication.

I could swear I never want to hurt you, but I would be lying.

You are the freshest breath of air I have had in my life. You are the most logical brand of crazy I have encountered, and I have been a medical practitioner and an army doctor on three continents. I am an old adrenaline-junkie but you set fire to me, you know I am the emotion to your logic, and I know that mental illness attracts its like. Apart we are flawed and breakable, together we might cobble together enough defenses to where we cover each other’s weaknesses – even if getting you to admit having them is going to be a greater pain than ten thousand root canals.

I swear to you - Sherlock Holmes - that I will argue with you for the rest of our lives.

I swear on your grave that I will never let you go alone.

I swear to bring you tea and toast when you are in a strop.

I swear to sock you good when you destroy my jumpers.

I swear to curse you to high heavens when you put something that is not tea in my mug.

I swear to tell your brother to fuck off at least once a month.

Most of all I will swear to never leave willingly.

I will swear to never deliberately die and leave you alone, and I will someday work up the nerve to ask the same of you.

**Author's Note:**

> Song inspiration does weird things to the head.


End file.
